


Zwei Herzen, Ein Rhythmus

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26053810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: Based on the fic prompt "Listening to their lover's heartbeat when they lay on their chest"
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/James Moriarty
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Zwei Herzen, Ein Rhythmus

Moran remembers how when he was a child he would pick up a large seashell - creamy white with a touch of brown; spiral-shaped - from off the sideboard in the house he once lived in and he would listen to the sound of the sea. Of course it wasn't really the sea, he knows that now, but as a little boy there was something oddly peaceful about the sound. The strange rushing noise allowed him to imagine briefly he was somewhere else entirely if he closed his eyes - on an isolated beach perhaps gazing out at the ocean - until in a rage one day his father hurled the beautiful, delicate shell into the empty fireplace, smashing it to shards.

“What're you thinking about?” Moriarty asks, his voice soft and very slightly slurred with drowsiness. His eyes are closed.

“Seashells,” Moran says, not troubling to open his eyes either.

“Mm,” Moriarty says, not questioning it, too serene and too close to sleep to wonder any further about this response. He snuggles a little further into his soft feather pillows.

The sound Moran hears now is also strangely soothing. It is a sound that seems old as time – older, even. It is the beat of his lover's heart and the pulsing of his blood through his body, echoing some primordial rhythm that has echoed throughout history before man ever came to walk the earth, like the ebb and flow of the tides and the pulsing of stars. It is as if for a moment he has tapped into something for which the tick-tock of a clock or watch is only mechanical mimicry of the beat that runs throughout life, throughout time – the rhythm of nature which man has tried over and over again to master, but has never entirely managed to suppress or drown out for all his attempts to overpower it with the noise of all his wheels turning; his complex machinery; all that brilliant burning gaslight and electricity and the endless cacophony of the modern cities.

With his head against the Professor's chest, Moran relaxes, bit by bit, all of the tension seeping out of him. He listens to the beat of Moriarty's heart and the slow rhythmic inhale and exhale of his breathing, and he can smell him – the faint odour of soap and freshly washed clothing, undercut with the Professor's own natural scent, itself certainly not unpleasant. Everything else going on in the city feels as if it is happening a very long way away. There seems only to be the two of them together, their breaths, their hearts, falling into a single rhythm. They do not speak any more for there is no need, in this liminal space, their own private corner which does seem somehow a world away from the bustle of London around them, where they lie between the worlds of wakefulness and sleep.

Moriarty runs a hand down Moran's back, gently stroking him, but his movements gradually slow and cease as he falls asleep. Moran does not protest at this cessation though. He is already asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the Die Krupps song of the same name. Two hearts, one rhythm.


End file.
